


Delicate

by speccygeekgrrl



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-05
Updated: 2009-10-05
Packaged: 2017-10-02 12:32:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speccygeekgrrl/pseuds/speccygeekgrrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A retelling of the myth of Apollo and Hyacinthus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Delicate

In a time of great wonders and greater powers, there was a man with such power that some called him a god. His might was great and his aspect terrible, but a rare few found favor in his eyes, so that they were shown the extent of his powers not in fury but in tenderness. The man's name was Sylar, and though he had skill beyond understanding, he brought misfortune to all that he loved; still, he loved, hoping to avoid the pain that rippled out in his wake, waves that could drown a woman or tear away a man and leave him once again bereft.

Though none could match him in power, often his favor would touch one of small talent and perhaps lead it to grow stronger. Such was the intent when his eye was caught by a youth called Luke: he saw potential in the boy, a spark that could kindle into a flame. Sylar took the boy from his mother's home and brought him along on his quests, teaching him as they went further abroad.

A quick study, Luke learned well under Sylar's tutelage, becoming skilled in rhetoric and in tactics, in the use of his power, and in the ways of men, now that he was proving himself no longer a boy. Sylar was well pleased with his student, and kept Luke close by his side. Though he was fond of Luke, there was no need to watch him constantly but for the sake of looking, and he found his gaze lingering more often as they journeyed onward.

The goal of Sylar's quest was to find his origin, for the truth of his birth had been long concealed. Once he found Luke's company to be pleasant, the quest seemed less urgent, and the voyage more enjoyable of itself; as the young man proved his competence, he also made Sylar proud of him, and under that pride he flourished and strove to prove himself still more worthy. It did not take long for Luke to try to show his worthiness of Sylar's attention in other ways, ones which Sylar would not have requested but accepted eagerly when they were offered of Luke's own volition.

So they traveled, coming ever closer to the end of the quest and yet reluctant to be done. The night before they were to approach the man said to be Sylar's father, Luke clung to Sylar like a vine to a tree, begging not to be forgotten no matter what Sylar found in the morning, be it a hero or a villain or a man as insignificant as most others in the world. Though Sylar knew lies from truth, he could not prove his own truthfulness other than by clasping Luke closer, pressing lips full of promises to the young man's ear.

When the sun was overhead, they approached together the place where the man was said to live; Sylar called out and the one who emerged was old, hoary and unkempt, ugly and ruthless as a frozen windy day. Luke recognized the man, who had once dwelt among the living before removing himself to this place where only the birds came, but the changed appearance frightened the young man, and he hid himself behind Sylar.

Jealousy overcame the older man, for he too had seen the potential in Luke, and envied the devotion that was so freely shown to Sylar as he met the man he had given away as a boy. Anger and deceit filled him, and he told Sylar to send the boy away from them, that they might talk of secret things between father and son. Though Luke was loathe to leave his mentor, still he obeyed, sitting outside to watch for birds and see what omens they might bring.

There were no omens for him, not even a warning of sorrow or ill luck. From the window, the old man demonstrated his own power: a killing blow from afar, no touch or invocation, but stealing the breath from his very lungs. Luke was struck down; though Sylar flew to his side and caught him before Luke could fall to the ground, already his eyes had closed never to open again. For all the power Sylar bore, not one of his talents could bring the life back to the young man's body.

In a rage, Sylar slew the old man, for it was no trade at all to be given life only to lose a life so dear to him by the same hand. He burned the body until only ashes remained, and then he bore Luke's lifeless form to a place clear of trees, a sunlit hillside. Where he lay the boy down, flowers bloomed, [freckled as Luke's skin](http://i168.photobucket.com/albums/u173/speccygeekgrrl/lukeflower.jpg), blooming quickly and fading with similar swiftness.

The man who was likened to a god left his history in ashes and his love in the ground, and kept only the promise he had made to never forget Luke, no matter what he had found that heartbreaking morning.


End file.
